


Always Find Me

by prdshan



Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: Adopted Sibling Relationship, Angst, Bang Chan & Lee Felix are Siblings, Childhood Friends, Childhood Trauma, Domestic Fluff, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Falling In Love, Families of Choice, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Gangs, Gen, Getting Together, Growing Up Together, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, On the Run, Time Skips, Unconventional Families
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-12
Updated: 2019-05-14
Packaged: 2020-02-28 22:50:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 17,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18765901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prdshan/pseuds/prdshan
Summary: Felix was nine when his parents died and he was sent back to Korea. He was ten when Chan found him, bruised and bloody. They found a home in each other, until that too, was taken away.Now, three years after their separation, Chan is the head of a gang and Felix is once again, a lonely boy too far from home. But somehow, fate decides to bring them together again. And this time, they won't be torn apart so easily.ORChan is the leader of the gang, 3RACHA and Felix is a runaway looking for a home. Somehow they end up on the same path once again.





	1. Stay

_Broken bones, blood, and bruises-_

The boy couldn’t have been _that_ much younger than him, huddled behind a stack of cardboard boxes, trying to shelter himself from the pouring rain. The alleyway was dank and wet, smelling strongly of rotten garbage and liquor. The bricks of the buildings were old and crumbling – a hazard for the public, but this area was abandoned so it didn’t really matter. It wouldn’t be hurting anyone. Anyone but that scared little boy who hadn’t even noticed Chris standing there, watching him. He was sheltered in layers, but that didn’t matter when they were soaked through.

_Shivers, shudders, shoulders quaking and teeth chattering-_

_Warmth. Just give him some warmth-_

“Hey!” Chris shouted over the thundering of the rain. Usually, he would be more discrete – not drawing attention to himself (he knew what happened when their attention was on you). The boy’s head jerked up, his black-brown eyes wide. He scrambled back further into his make-shift hideout. Chris took a few tentative steps forward, one arm held out – the other holding the umbrella he had stolen two weeks ago – to show that he wasn’t about to strike.

_I won’t hurt you. I’m not like them, I’m not like the people who did this to you-_

“L-Leave m-me al-lone!” the boy shouted in broken, almost indecipherable Korean. He had an accent; an accent Chris knew very well.

_How did you end up all the way here?-_

_I hope you’re not like me-_

“I’m not going to hurt you. I promise,” Chris said in clear English, still taking small steps closer until he could kneel in front of the boy. The boy looked up at him reverently, as if he couldn’t believe – _couldn’t comprehend_ – that there was someone like him. Just like him. The bright light of hope quickly dulled, and the boy scowled, shrinking back further.

_No one. Trust no one. They’ll betray you. They’ll hurt you. They’ll get you killed-_

_I know how that feels, kid-_

“They always say that,” the boy hissed, and Chris took in the way he cradled his hand to his chest beneath the layers. Chris swallowed.

“Who’s they? Your parents?” he tried. The boy snarled – or he tried his best to with his split lip and bruised face.

“My parents are dead,” the boy snapped. The pain in his eyes had changed from the blazing fear and anger and frustration to something else – something Chris was too familiar with. He fought not to look away. This wasn’t the time.

_Chris, go! Go!-_

_Ma, no!-_

_Gunshots, bullets splayed across the carpet of the car, blood on the windshield, cowering in the backseat, barely breathing-_

“Your foster family then? The kids at the orphanage?” Chris waited for a reaction. The boy said nothing, turned his cheek but Chris caught the flash of truth in his eyes. “You ran away?”

A small nod was all he got. He sighed. His shoes and pants were almost soaked now, the rain coming down heavy and with no signs of stopping. The boy was still shivering, his black hair matted to his forehead, his breath coming out in small puffs of steam. Chris wondered just how much of the water on his cheeks was from the rain and how much was from his tears.

_I can’t leave you here. I can’t leave you-_

“You can’t stay here,” he tried. The boy turned to him sharply, expecting a threat no doubt. “The rain’s not going to stop any time soon. Your clothes are soaked through, you’re shivering. If you don’t catch a fever, you’ll die of hypothermia.”

“So, what? Why do you care?” the boy asked. There was something else in his voice this time – desperation, fear, a mix of both. It made Chris ache.

_Because you’re me and I’m you. We’re the same. If you look closely, you’ll see that we’re the same-_

“Because I can’t just leave you here to die when I could have helped you.” The boy only stared at him. Chris fought the frustrated sigh shuddering in his chest. He took a long breath and tried to fill his voice with as much of the sincerity he felt. “Just let me help you _. Please._ ”

He held out his hand, waiting. The boy looked at his and back to his face. He hesitated, biting down on his already ruined lip and not even wincing. Chris willed – _pleaded, prayed, begged_ – for the boy to just take his hand, _just please take my hand._

“You – you won’t hurt me?” he asked softly. He stared at Chris, his eyes so wide and pleading. So afraid. No one should be that afraid. Especially not such a starry-eyed, tiny boy.

“ _Never,_ ” he said, holding the boy’s gaze. “I promised, didn’t I?”

Up close, Chris could see the freckles splattered across his face, hidden beneath the blue-yellow bruises, and crusted dried blood.

_I promise. I promise. I promise. I promise. I-_

The boy placed his uninjured hand in Chris’s, the other one still held to his chest. It was so small, his fingers barely more than half the size of Chris’s and so, so cold. Chris closed his hand around the boy’s tightly, trying to pass on some of his warmth. He hoisted the boy upright as gently as he could, tucking him into his side, not caring that his clothes would be soaked or that they would both be sick by tomorrow. He held his umbrella over both their heads. The boy reluctantly huddled closer, seeking more shelter, more warmth.

_So cold. You’re freezing-_

“My name is Chris,” he said. The boy didn’t reply, but Chris hadn’t expected him to. “You don’t have to tell me your name if you don’t want to. I just thought it would be better if you know mine.”

Still no reply. But that was fine. Chris remembered that time when he’d been in much the same state as the boy was in now. His wounds were still fresh – the ones painted across his face in sickening color _and_ the one ingrained inside; the ones Chris couldn’t see but he knew they were there. He had them too, after all.

“I don’t stay too far from here,” was the last thing he said. They walked the rest of the way in silence, only the sound of their breathing and the rain filling the air.

They reached Chris’s place not long after. It was a small, ground-floor apartment in a shady area that had been abandoned after the bank had foreclosed the building. By some miracle, the water had still worked and Chris had stolen enough batteries and wires to power the place. There were a few other homeless people that frequented the place, but they never stayed long.

“You stay here by yourself?” the boy asked. Chris almost startled at the sound of his voice, so used to the silence they’d descended into during their short journey. The boy stood in the middle of the apartment, looking around curiously, cautiously. Chris found himself amused by the reaction.

Chris had more than the bare essentials – two single mattresses pushed together in the corner of the room with blankets upon blankets on top. A large, worn couch that had been there since he’d found the place. An old television he’d hooked up, and a radio. Most – _all_ – of the things scattered around the apartment were stolen.

“Yeah. I found it two years ago,” Chris said. He rummaged around in the broken wardrobe built into the wall for clothes, throwing the thickest items onto the bed behind him.

“Here,” he said, picking up the clothes and handing them to the boy. The boy looked down at the clothes, blankly. Chris pushed them towards the boy. “You need to change or else there would have been no point in me saving you from the rain.”

“T-Thank you,” the boy said, accepting the clothes with one hand. Chris eyed his other hand, hidden under his sleeve.

“The water works. You can take a hot shower and I’ll look at your hand afterward, yeah?” Chris said. Again, the boy stared at him blankly. Chris held back another sigh, walking over to the bathroom door and holding it open, waiting for the boy to enter.

_God, when was the last time they showed you kindness?-_

Chris closed the door softly behind him as he stepped inside. He waited until he heard the water sputtering against the tiles before he moved away. He rummaged around for the safety kit, hoping he had everything he needed. He didn’t know the extent of the boy’s injuries. What if he needed to go to the hospital? It would be risky, but Chris would do it.

He placed the kit down on the couch and went to change into warmer clothes as he waited for the boy to finish in the bathroom. He was sitting with his feet curled up, staring at his socked feet, humming to himself when he glanced up and the boy was standing in front of him. He jumped up.

“Zoned out on you there, didn’t I? Sorry about that,” Chris said. He gestured for the boy to sit. the blood was gone, but the bruises looked worse than they had before. They looked so out-of-place against the smooth tan of his skin. They shouldn’t be there.

_They shouldn’t be there-_

“Are you hurt anywhere else besides…?” he gestured to the boy’s face. The boy shook his head and Chris let out a relieved sigh. He promptly choked on it when the boy said, “Those are mostly healed by now.”

Mostly healed by now. _Mostly_ healed by now. _Mostly healed by now._

The words bounced around in Chris’s head, and he had to tamper down his disbelief, tamper down his rage. The boy had run away from people who raged – raged and hurt and ruined. Chris wouldn’t expose him to that again, no matter that he could put his hand through a wall at that moment. Instead, he swallowed and nodded, leaving it at that. The boy looked at him curiously but didn’t say anything.

“Why are you helping me? _Really,_ ” the boy asked as Chris dapped disinfectant on his cuts and scrapes, placed plasters over open wounds and rebandaged his wrist that had been sprained, probably trying to defend himself.

“You remind me of myself. Not that long ago, when I was your age, I lost my parents too. I had no-one and nowhere to go. I had to fend for myself,” Chris said, not taking his eyes off his work. When he finished trying off the bandage, he looked up and caught the boy’s gaze. “I don’t want you to go through the same.”

Chris cradled the boy’s hand in both of his own, unwilling to let go – as if the boy would disappear if he let go.

_I need you as much as you need me-_

_I don’t want to be alone anymore-_

“Do you want something to eat?” Chris asked, tearing himself away to stand. He sniffed _– sniffed? Why was he crying? He hadn’t cried in so long._

“Please,” the boy sighed. Chris smiled despite himself.

“Come on,” he said, motioning for Felix to follow him into the kitchen, only separated from the rest of the apartment by a paper-thin wall, its wallpaper peeling. “Welcome to Chan’s kitchen!”

The boy smiled bemused, giving Chris a strange look. “…Chan?”

“Ah, right. It’s my Korean name. But you can call me Chris or Chan – I don’t mind either,” Chris said. The boy nodded, and Chris took a few more seconds to assess him before moving on to cook.

Chris was enthralled in his cooking – the riveting journey of making ramyeon for the second time that week – when the boy spoke.

“Felix,” he whispered. Chris froze, turned slowly to look at the boy. He was sitting on one of the rickety chairs, staring down at the floor as he fiddled with the thread of Chris’s sweatpants. “My name is Felix. Lee Felix.”

“Well, it’s nice to meet you, Lee Felix. I’m Bang Chan,” Chris said. Felix smiled – small but genuine.

Later, they had finished the food and were curled up on opposite sides of the couch, Chris having smothered Felix with at least five blankets. The radio played, but Chris didn’t know the name of the song and he wondered if Felix could even understand the lyrics.

“Chris,” Felix said. Chris shifted until he was sitting upright and looking across the space at Felix who was lying content in his cocoon. “I-I can stay, right?”

Chris untangled himself from the blanket he had been under and crawled over the Felix. He unwrapped the boy, settling down next to him, their shoulders pressed together. Felix was so much smaller than him, his head resting against the bone of Chris’s shoulder. Chris draped the blankets across them once he was settled.

“Stay as long as you want, Felix,” he said. Felix hummed in reply, whispering a quiet _thank you_ under his breath. The lapsed into silence again, but Chris didn’t mind. He looked at the ceiling, the ache in his chest both heavier and lighter at the same time.

_Don’t leave me. I can’t be alone. I can’t, don’t leave-_

“Stay.”

 


	2. Sunflower

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How seven out of nine met.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw/  
> this chapter contains very brief mentions of sexual assault, underage sex and drug use, addiction, and violence.

 

**2016-2018**

It had started out as just him. Well, that was after.

_After you left, after you were taken away, shipped off, never to be seen again-_

_Skies turned grey, rain fell, and all those precious flowers died-_

It had been months of him wandering around helplessly, going from place to place, never stopping, not even to breathe. If he just kept going, just kept running, then he’d be so out of breath and dizzy that he wouldn’t be able to think. And he didn’t want to think. He didn’t want the memories that lingered.

_Bright smile, and an even brighter laugh, dyed blonde hair the color of sunshine and so many freckles-_

It wasn’t until he’d ran straight into someone else that he’d stopped. The world had come to a halt, the air stopping in his lungs as he was slammed up into a wall. He’d groaned at the impact, head spinning as he tried to make sense of what was happening. Rough hands gripped his chin and pulled his face up into the harsh light of the streetlamps.

“It’s not him,” a gruff voice hissed, spit splattering across Chan’s face. The man wore a laughably cliché black mask, two eye-holes cut into the fabric. His cheeks bulged against the fabric, his sharp nose pointing against Chan’s cheek. Chan bared his teeth.

“Let ‘em go, that little brat has to be around here somewhere,” someone said from Chan’s right. The man released his grip on Chan’s face and turned to follow his associate without another glance back. They disappeared around a corner, talking between themselves. Chan caught the glint of a blade in the one’s hand and the lump at the other one’s hip. His blood ran cold.

_That could have gone much worse-_

_So much blood, blood everywhere, his blood, her blood, so red-_

Crash!

Chan’s head snapped to the side as a trashcan toppled over, revealing a boy – probably the boy those guys were looking for. He was young, younger than Chan, with chubby cheeks and curly hair. Chan would wonder why such dangerous people were looking for such an innocent looking boy, had it not been for the expression on his face.

_Roaring, thunderous anger. Fury-_

Chan’s eyes jumped from where the boy was crouched on the ground, to the corner where the men had left. He could still hear their voices. They had to have heard that crash. Chan looked back to the boy and widened his eyes, jerking his chin to the end of the alley. The fence wasn’t that high and if he ran fast enough, he would be gone before those men came back.

The boy narrowed his eyes but stood anyway. He walked backward, keeping his eyes on something over Chan’s shoulder. Stupidly, the boy stumbled over the lid of the trashcan he had knocked over and went tumbling to the ground loudly. Chan cursed, surging forward.

Footsteps sounded behind him, the sound of a gun cocking.

“There he is!” a familiar voice shouted.

Chan didn’t even glance over his shoulder as he rushed to the boy’s side. The boy scrambled backwards, trying and failing to find his footing. Chan grabbed his arm and hoisted him up. He shoved the boy forward, towards the fence and shouted, “ _Climb!”_

The boy grasped onto the wire with surprisingly steady hands, lifting himself and climbing as fast as he could. Chan followed after him, the sharp metal digging and cutting into the flesh of his hands. A shot rang out. He ducked instinctively. Another shot. He didn’t have time to worry about getting hit.

_Just keep moving. Run. Climb. Go. Don’t stop. Don’t. Stop-_

They made it to the top of the fence, but instead of hopping down into the next street, the boy jumped up onto the ledge of the building on their right. He turned back, catching Chan’s confused look and scowled and held out his hand. “Are you coming, or what?”

Without a second of hesitation, he grabbed the boy’s outstretched hand and was pulled onto the shaky ledge. With his hands tight around the rusted metal bars of the railing, he followed after the boy. He pressed his back to the chalky bricks, his heart hammering out of his chest.

The men were still yelling below them, firing off shots, but Chan didn’t flinch, focused only on the sheer need to survive. He was lucky – the boy seemed to know where he was going.

_Steps in all the right places, hands steady and eyes focused-_

_Who are you?-_

The boy stopped, reaching up to grab the end of a ladder and bringing it down. He spared only a glance behind him as he began to climb. Chan sent another quick look to the men, smaller and less intimidating at a distance, but no less dangerous with their guns and knives.

They climbed ladder after ladder, not stopping until the boy above him tumbled over the railing and onto the roof of the building. Chan followed him in a more elegant fashion, dropped into a crouch and falling to his knees. The adrenalin was wearing off, his heart still racing but the sweat was cooling on his skin. His lungs wouldn’t take in air fast enough. He gasped for breath, pressing his hands into the concrete and dry-heaving.

The boy was sprawled on the ground not far from him, his chest heaving with every breath and his head tilted up to the night sky. Unlike Chan, the boy wasn’t shaking – from fear _or_ exhaustion. Instead, there was a smirk on his face and Chan was shocked when the boy let out a loud laugh. It was a real laugh too, not hysterical or bordering on psychotic. It was the kind of laugh Chan imagined he would hear in the hallways of the high school where this kid should be.

_So young. Just like you. You both should be somewhere else. Somewhere better-_

_No. Not with those eyes. Those hell-fire, burning eyes-_

“Take _that_ , fuckers!” the boy yelled. Chan hissed, eyes darting back and forth between the boy and the ledge. He couldn’t hear those guys anymore, but that didn’t mean they weren’t there.

“Did you steal from them or something?” Chan asked once he’d caught his breath. The boy looked at him as if remembering he was still there.

“Or something,” he said, ignoring Chan’s raised eyebrow. “Look, thanks for your help and all – you really saved my ass back there – but I’m on my own from here on out.”

Chris narrowed his eyes, crawling and shuffling around until he could bring himself to stand. The boy stayed on the ground, looking up at him curiously.

_So young-_

_I can’t leave you-_

_Maybe you don’t need me, but I need you-_

“Where are you going?” Chan asked.

“What’s it matter to you?” the boy _tsked_. He fumbled a little as he stood. He stretched as if he’d just gone for a leisurely evening jog and hadn’t almost been gunned down by two grown men in ski-masks.

_What happened to you?-_

_Why are you like this?-_

“Do you have a home to go back to? A family?” Chan asked, ignoring the boy’s question. The boy scowled at him, his pleased look slipping as he turned his gaze to the floor.

_That’s all I needed to know-_

“My mom’s probably freaking out, but it’s not like I can go home. Not with those assholes chasing me,” Jisung said. He glanced up and held Chan’s gaze, puffing out his chest.

“So you can’t go home,” Chan said. “Where will you go then?”

For the first time, Chan saw the boy falter. “I’ll – I’ll figure something out.”

“Yeah, I’m sure you will,” Chan said, and even though there wasn’t an ounce of sarcasm in his voice, it was still implied.

“Who the fuck even are you? You don’t know anything–” the boy snapped, rushing forward to get up into Chan’s face. Chan cut him off, placing a hand on his chest and gently shoving him back.

“Maybe I don’t know anything about you. But I do know a lost kid when I see one,” he said.

_And I’ve seen one too many lost kids-_

“I’m not a kid!” the boy sputtered, indignant. Chan snorted.

“Really? How old are you then?” Chan asked. A red flush came over the boy’s cheeks as he mumbled under his breath. “What was that?”

“Fifteen! I’m fifteen okay! But I’ll be sixteen in September. It doesn’t matter–”

Chan’s heart squeezed painfully. He choked on a breath, but the boy didn’t notice, too engrossed in his rant about he how was _almost an adult, he could take care of himself, I don’t need your pity_.

_Fifteen. Fifteen. Fifteen._

_You’d be sixteen in September too-_

“Come with me,” Chan said without thinking. He didn’t need to think – not when it happened four years ago, and not now.  “I have a place. I stay there alone. No one should be able to find you–”

“Uh, you’re good looking and all dude, but I’m sure that’s _more_ illegal than what I’m already doing,” the boy backed away with his hands raised.

“What?” Chan asked. Then his words caught him to him and he choked, his eyes widening. “No. _No._ Not like that. I just meant – it’s a safe place to stay. I-I would _never_.”

The boy eyed him, still suspicious. Chan shook his head. Of course, the offer would sound strange. With the life Chan lived, he should’ve known such an offer could be taken in a … suggestive manner. He shuddered to imagine the kind of people propositioning fifteen-year olds.

“Just stay the night, okay? I have food, a working shower. One night and you can decide if you want to stay or leave,” Chan said.

Chan remembered the promise he’d made to himself when F – when _he_ had gone.

_Been taken away-_

_Wide eyes and outstretched hands, begging and pleading-_

_Hyung, I don’t want to go-_

No more. Don’t get attached.

Well, he was fucked now.

“Fine,” the boy said. Chan’s head jerked up, a smile forming on his face. The boy pointed a finger in his face, wiggling it around with an unconscious pout on his lips. “But only for one night.”

“Of course.”

Suffice to say, it wasn’t just one night. He would make up countless excuses to stay.

“The water pressure’s nice.”

“Your cooking’s decent, I guess.”

“I like your mattress.”

It wasn’t until a few months later, winter fast approaching, with both of them huddled together under the blankets, teeth chattering and hands clutching onto each other for comfort and warmth, that he finally muttered, “I like it here.”

“I know,” Chan said. He rubbed the boy’s shoulder, tugging the blanket higher when he shivered.

“You said I could stay right?”

Chan smiled to himself.

_Stay as long as you want-_

“Of course.”

And that’s how he’d met Han Jisung.

Of course, as he would learn later, things with Jisung could – and _would_ – spiral out of control fairly quickly. It wasn’t long before Jisung had gone out for a routine grocery-run – something he and Chan alternated doing because Chan didn’t like Jisung being out there by himself, and Jisung didn’t like being stuck in the apartment – and had come back with another boy.

Chan had blinked in surprise as Jisung had confidently walked into the apartment, dumped the shopping bags on the kitchen table and stood in front of Chan, proclaiming, “Hyung, this is Jeongin. He’ll be staying with us from now on.”

“Uh, Sung?” Chan had asked, looking between the two boys in confusion.

The other boy – Jeongin – peaked out from his hiding spot behind Jisung, giving Chan a sheepish wave and nervous smile, his braces glinting in the bright afternoon light. Even without confirmation, Chan knew he was probably younger even than Jisung.

_So, so young-_

_Why are you all so young?-_

“Hyung, just – _please_? He needs a place to stay – he can’t go home – hyung I promised him,” Jisung said. His eyes matched Jeongin’s: wide and pleading. He really needed to work on his ability to say no.

Chan sighed. “Fine, _fine._ ”

And that was how Yang Jeongin fit himself into their lives – or how Jisung shoved things out of the way to make a place for him. Chan didn’t mind it, though. It was nice to have two other people in the house with him. It made it feel more… _lived in._ Jeongin didn’t talk much at first, speaking only when Jisung was around and bombarding him with questions. It took a while for Jeongin to be comfortable around Chan, but Chan was more than willing to wait and let the boy come to him in his own time.

When he finally did, Chan got the full story out of him. He was another runaway, just like Jisung, just like F– _him_.

“I’m from Busan,” Jeongin explained when they were both up late. Jisung was dead to the world, buried beneath a pile of blankets while Jeongin and Chan sat on the couch, large cups tea steaming in their hands. “My family sent me to this boarding school. Things were fine at first…”

Chan stayed silent as he let the boy collect himself. Jeongin took a deep breath, taking a shaky sip of his tea before continuing.

“I had to share a room with these other boys. I didn’t mind – I used to share a room with my brothers back home. At first, they’d just say mean things, tell me to go back to where I came from. They made fun of my voice, my braces. It hurt but it wasn’t _that_ bad. It wasn’t until the day Jisung found me that things were,” Jeongin paused and Chan was startled to see tears threatening to spill. He placed his own tea on the table and tried to reach over to lay a hand on Jeongin’s arm, but the boy flinched away from his touch.

Chan pulled back as if burned.

_What did they do to you?-_

_Please tell me it’s not what I think-_

“They d-didn’t _do_ anything. B-But they-they were going to.” Jeongin’s hands were shaking now, tears lining his cheeks and Chan reached out slowly until he could pry the cup out of Jeongin’s hand and set it on the table.

“They shoved me into this dark room, and they-they tried – I–” Jeongin was shaking now, his breath coming in harsh pants. He buried his face in his hands as he sobbed. Chan ached to hug him.

_It’s okay. They’ll never touch you again. They’ll never go near you again-_

_I’ll kill them if they even try-_

“Hey. _Hey,”_ Chan kneeled on the floor in front of Jeongin. It took a while, but he waited until Jeongin lowered his hands from his face. He was still shaking, no doubt on the cusp of a panic attack. “Look at me. You are safe here, okay? Those boys will never come near you again. They’ll never touch you again. Jisung and I will make sure of it.”

_For once, Jisung’s murderous tendencies will be put to good use-_

_I’ll protect you. We both will-_

“T-Thank you, Chan-hyung,” Jeongin whispered. He dropped his head, sniffed and tried to wipe his tears away, but they kept coming.

“Can I – can I hug you?” Chan asked. He waited, ready for rejection. It took a minute, but Jeongin nodded, not looking at Chan.

Chan moved slowly so that Jeongin was aware of his every move. He took a seat next to the boy, lifting his arm until it was lying around the boy’s shoulder. Jeongin stiffened under his touch, but Chan waited patiently until he relaxed, before pulling him closer and letting him rest his head on his shoulder.

_It’s okay. It’s okay. It’s okay-_

_You’re safe-_

After that, Chan – and Jisung – always made sure to ask before touching Jeongin. Even the small, insignificant touches that occurred in everyday life, they would ask. Chan knew that it annoyed Jeongin sometimes – he’d told them as much. But Chan knew that he was thankful – though he didn’t say that as much.

They weren’t a gang at that point – not yet. Not until Changbin.

No, it wasn’t Changbin’s fault that they had ended up on that road – that was on all of them, on all of their stupid decisions made for the right reasons. But it was true to say that meeting Changbin had been sort of a catalyst.

They hadn’t met under the best circumstances – though, had any of them? Jisung and Jeongin were back at the apartment, curled up watching an old black-and-white movie, munching on the cheesecake Chan had brought them at Jisung’s insistence. Chan had opted to go for a walk, check out the night-life.

He hadn’t been out in a long time. Hadn’t had any of that crazy, idiotic, teenager fun. So, when he heard loud music, the sound of _hooting_ and screaming, the heavy smell of alcohol and weed in the air, he soon found himself in front of a mansion. It must have been a college party. It was easy for him to blend in with the crowd, slipping through the open doorway with no one stopping him.

There were bodies everywhere, grinding up against each other, hands and legs entangled as bright LED lights flickered overhead. Alcohol sloshed over the rims of their cups and smoke filled the air, staining the high ceiling. He made his way through the crowd, not particularly caring for the sweaty bodies pushing up against him but enjoying the bass of the music all the same. He let his body move with it, swaying to the beat as he was carried away further and further by the waves of the crowd.

He felt light for once, free of responsibilities and fear. For once, he felt his age.

He stumbled out of the mass of bodies, his hair matted to his forehead. He laughed to himself, climbing the stairs, going in search of a bathroom. The sweat was cooling on his body, but the entire house was so humid – he was glad for the sleeveless shirt he wore, even if Jisung had relentlessly mocked him for it when he’d left the apartment.

There were so many closed doors, Chan would just have to guess at which one the bathroom was and hope he didn’t interrupt anyone. That would be awkward.

He picked a random door, pushing it open without a thought and stepping inside. He froze in the doorway, his hand slipping off the doorknob.

That light, carefree feeling that had built up in his chest, filling him with elation and happiness shriveled up and died. His lungs collapsed as he stopped breathing, surging forward without a thought.

Three men were in the room, one of whom was being held down by his neck, his face pressed into a table. No, he wasn’t a man. A boy. He was a boy. Maybe Chan’s age, he couldn’t tell. He was struggling against the other two men, but they held his hands back and forced him down further. White powder was scattered across the table and Chan didn’t have to smell or taste it to know what it was. The boy sniffed and coughed, powder staining his face and neck.

“Let go of him!” Chan shouted, ripping away the one holding the boy’s arms and throwing him to the ground. Shocked by the intrusion, both men let go and flung themselves back. Chan grabbed the boy by the back of his denim hoodie and shoved his head back. The boy coughed and sputtered, half conscious.

One of the men tried to aim a fist at Chan’s face, but he dodged. He ducked down at kicked the guy in the crotch. He went down with a groan. The other man managed to wrap a lanky arm around Chan’s neck, choking up. Chan rammed his elbow into the man’s chest. Then again. When the guy let go, Chan spun, punching him in the face. The man stumbled back, shook himself, but started forward again. He lunged but Chan punched him again.

And again.

And again.

And again.

He didn’t know why, but he couldn’t stop. This man – he wasn’t who Chan saw lying beneath him.

He saw those boys who hurt Felix.

Those men who chased down Jisung.

Those fuckers who tried to hurt Jeongin.

The men that killed his mother.

 He was screaming. He was crying. He only stopped when the man under him fell unconscious, completely still, and it was only out of the fear that he might have killed the man, that Chan stopped. He was heaving with every breath, his senses coming back to him slowly. He blinked once, twice… his surroundings came back into focus. His heartbeat slow and he slumped forward. His knuckles had split open, his blood dripping onto the dirty carpet.

A whimper snapped him out of his daze. The boy he’d saved was slumped on the ground, shivering and eyes rolled to the back of his head.

“Shit,” he muttered, standing up on shaking legs and stumbling over to the boy. He dragged his body upright, throwing the boy’s arm over his own shoulders and half-carrying half-dragging him out of the room, out of the house.

“Hyung, what the fuck?” Jisung shouted when Chan stumbled through the door, almost collapsing under the strain of the boy’s weight.

“I’ll explain later,” Chan said. “Just help me get him to the bathroom.”

Jisung didn’t even sigh as he rushed to Chan and took up the boy’s other side. Jeongin stood to the side, worried and anxious. Chan tried his best to give the younger boy a reassuring smile as they passed him on their way to the bathroom.

“Jeonginnie. Can you get me some water please?” Chan asked, trying to keep the panic out of his voice. Jeongin rushed to the kitchen and Chan could hear him rummaging around.

“What are we supposed to do?” Jisung asked when they had positioned the boy with his head over the toilet. Before Chan could respond, the boy lurched forward heaving wetly as he vomited. Jisung winced at the sound, but Chan moved forward, gripping the boy’s shoulders and rubbing the space between his shoulders.

He continued to vomit even when Chan was sure there was nothing left in his stomach. When he had stopped and was instead just dry-heaving, Chan gestured for Jeongin to hand him the large glass of water.

“Here, drink,” Chan said, holding the glass up to the boy’s lips. The boy struggled to swallow, water tumbling over his lips and staining his shirt. The boy had barely taken a few sips when he jerked forward, vomiting out the water and whatever else was left in his system. It went on for so long, but all Chan could do was rub his back and offer comforting words. The worst part was the sounds – the small, pathetic whimpers that left the boy’s throat.

_It’s okay. I’m here. I’m with you-_

_I won’t leave you-_

“It’s going to be a long night.” Jisung cracked a smile but it was strained around the edges. Chan handed Jeongin the glass and he rushed out to fill it with more water.

It took a few days for the boy to regain consciousness. After he’d vomited out almost all of his organs, Chan and Jisung had put down towels and laid him down on one of the mattresses. It had been days of them watching him sweat and shake, whimpering almost non-stop.

“Hey, hey, hey,” Chan said, rushing to the boy’s side as he tried to sit up. 

He gripped the boy’s shoulders and pushed him back down. “Don’t move.”

“Who are–? … where am…. I?” he slurred, eyes half-open. Chan pressed a hand against his forehead. The fever had gone down, but his skin was still warm and clammy.

“My name is Chan,” he said. He wrapped his arms around the boy’s upper body and tugged him up into a sitting position. Jeongin appeared at his side with a glass of water. Chan accepted gratefully, holding it to the boy’s lips. “Drink.”

The boy struggled through the glass of water, only spilling a little, but he finished the entire thing. He shooed Jeongin away with instructions to fetch him a bucket of hot water and a rag.

“How do you feel?” Chan asked though he could already guess.

“Like shit,” the boy said, and Chan laughed. The boy, though he coughed and groaned, laughed as well.

The boy’s name was Seo Changbin and he was two years younger than Chan – only seventeen. He was a drug runner for a lowly street gang, trying to make enough money to go to the school he wanted because his parents couldn’t afford it. They’d kicked him out when they learned of what he was doing, and Changbin had been staying at the gang’s headquarters ever since.

“It was my first time running with these two guys,” Changbin explained after he’d taken a shower and Chan had tried to stuff him with food – which had failed because Changbin had only ended up vomiting again. He stuck to water from then on. “We were just supposed to deliver the drugs to this rich girl. But they insisted she ‘try the merchandise’ in front of them. They tried to force her to finish the whole packet, but I stopped them.”

“And they forced you to finish what she couldn’t,” Jisung said. He had been quiet for most of the morning, grim as he watched Chan fuss over Changbin, but he hadn’t voiced any complaints, which was strange in itself. Jisung hated new people.

_So many bad things for the right reasons-_

_You shouldn’t have to make these decisions-_

“Yeah,” Changbin sighed. He fell silent as the all observed him. “I can’t go back.”

Chan knew that already, had guessed as much – especially after he’d almost killed that guy. From the moment Chan had held Changbin close, the boy crying and whimpering in his arms as they waited for the drug to run through his system, he’d known how this was going to go.

But before he could speak – tell Changbin that he was staying, that Chan was not going to let him go and get himself killed – Jeongin, sweet, innocent Jeongin spoke up first.

“Then you’ll stay with us,” Jeongin said. Chan and Jisung looked towards him with raised eyebrows and he flushed a light pink but held his head up high. “He’ll stay with us, right hyungs?”

“Of course, Innie,” Jisung said, ruffling the boy’s hair.

“We should probably get a bigger place,” Chan joked.

Things weren’t easier after that. Changbin fit into their little group easily, although there were still times when he would be awkward barely speaking. But his actions made up for what he didn’t say, and Chan thought that was more than enough.

It was only after a few months that Chan noticed something wasn’t right. Changbin was more talkative, staying up later and sleeping longer. It wouldn’t have been so suspicious had it not been a complete change from Changbin’s original attitude. Chan trusted Changbin, after all, the boy had never done anything to dispel that trust.

But one night, Changbin had gotten into a loud screaming match with Jisung – not their regular back-and-forth bickering, but actual insults hurled at each other at the top of their lungs, before Changbin had left and Jisung had slammed his fist into a wall. Jeongin had been left in tears, unable to be consoled. Even Jisung, Chan had found out when he caught the boy tending to his injured hand, had tears running down his cheeks.

Chan followed Changbin, donning a black hoodie and keeping a safe distance away from him. The younger boy didn’t go far, slipping through a few alleyways and empty roads until he came to a more populated area. At the corner, Changbin stopped and watched two other men while Chan watched him. The two men didn’t exchange words, hands moving as their eyes darted around cautiously. Chan’s gut clenched as Changbin moved forward.

_Please don’t. You’re better than this. You don’t need it-_

_Why didn’t you just tell me?-_

Changbin timed it perfectly. The men separated, on disappearing into an inconspicuous car and the other heading Changbin’s way. Changbin rammed into the man, his bony shoulder sending the guy stumbling back. Though the man was too distracted to notice, Chan watched as Changbin’s hand darted quickly, featherlight, into the man’s pockets. An all-too-familiar packet of white powder was tucked into the pocket on Changbin’s hoodie as he apologized. The guy only grunted, shoving Chnagbin away and moving at a faster pace.

Changbin turned, his hand fisted in where Chan knew he was holding the drugs and made to go back the way he came. He hadn’t seen Chan yet, hidden in the shadows of the broken streetlamps and empty buildings.

When he was close enough, Chan gripped Changbin’s arm and roughly pulled the boy towards him. Changbin cursed, ready to fight. Now that Chan had a hand wrapped around his arm, he could feel just how skinny Changbin was, barely more than flesh and bones. God, how had he not noticed?

_Why would you do this to yourself?-_

When Changbin realized who had grabbed him, he looked more afraid than had it been some low-life thug.

“C-Chan-hyung,” Changbin stuttered out. He was shaking under Chan’s touch, fear and sadness radiating off of him. “I-I can – I can explain.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Chan asked. There was no anger in his voice, only disappointment. Not disappointment at what Changbin had done, but at the fact that he had suffered _alone_ when Chan was right there.

“I tried – I tried not to, hyung. But after that first… I – I _needed_ it,” Changbin explained. There were tears in his eyes now. “I-I didn’t – you would have thrown me out – I have nowhere else to go – I”

Chan wrapped his arms around the boy, drawing him close until they were crushed together, Changbin’s face buried in Chan’s neck as he sobbed. Chan rubbed comforting circles into his back, whispering into his ear.

_I’d never throw you out. You’re one of us, you’re family-_

_Let me help you-_

They returned to the apartment that night. Jisung was nowhere to be seen, but Chan knew the boy couldn’t have gone far – he knew Chan hated him being out by himself – and Jeongin was lying on the couch. His face was puffy, eyes bloodshot from crying. He burst into tears again when he saw Changbin.

“Oh, Innie,” Changbin whispered. The kneeled in front of the boy, not touching, _never touching_. “I’m sorry. Hyung is sorry.”

Jeongin threw himself onto Changbin, wrapping himself around the other boy like an octopus. The tears that Chan had thought had dried up, appeared in Changbin’s eyes again as he wrapped his arms around Jeongin in return. Chan left them like that, making himself a coffee.

It was nearing three in the morning when Jisung returned. Jeongin and Chan were on the mattress, Jeongin snoring against Chan’s shoulder. Sleep wouldn’t come, so Chan contented himself with watching the younger boy sleep, his face slack and peaceful. Changbin – still too raw, an open wound that had yet to stop bleeding – was curled up in the couch. Chan knew he wasn’t asleep. He was waiting for Jisung.

“Jisung-ah,” Chan heard Changbin whisper when Jisung stepped into the apartment. Soft footsteps filled the silence but Jisung didn’t say anything. “Jisung, _please._ Hyung is sorry, okay? Just – just please let me explain.”

The old springs of the couch squeaked as Chan assumed Jisung took a seat. There was a long pause as one of them – probably Jisung – let out a loud breath. “Fine. Explain.”

Chan listened carefully as Changbin explained everything to Jisung, his heart turning and turning and turning over in his chest until he felt like he couldn’t breathe. Jisung didn’t interrupt, not once, as Changbin explained how helpless he’d felt – how he’d itched for the drugs, the crawling beneath his skin, the voices in his head. How it had gotten to be too much, that he _had_ to make it stop. He had to.

_I would have helped you. We all would have helped you-_

_I’m sorry I didn’t notice. I’m sorry-_

 “Why didn’t you just tell us? We would have understood – we would have helped you!” Jisung whisper-yelled.

“I-I thought you’d kick me out,” Changbin whispered, voice almost inaudible. “I didn’t want to leave. I didn’t want to leave you guys.”

“You idiot. _You idiot_ ,” Jisung muttered. There was shifting and creaking, and Chan could only guess that Jisung had attached himself to Changbin in much the same way Jeongin had earlier. “You’re one of us. You’re not going anywhere.”

_You’re not going anywhere-_

Things changed again after that. There were large packets of candy everywhere now, lollipops and suckers. If Changbin got a craving, Jisung would shove one of either into Changbin’s mouth and telling him to “shut the fuck up.” If it got really bad, if the craving made Changbin sick and irritable and angry, Chan had a stash of cigarettes. They weren’t necessarily better, but they were safer. Changbin would sit outside, finishing a cigarette or two, before coming back inside calmer than before. Maybe they didn’t have healthy coping mechanisms, but at least they were coping.

Chan had noticed something in the following weeks. That same restlessness he’d felt, the residual anger and rage that had come out on the night had saved Changbin was still there, always lurking beneath the surface. He wanted to hurt someone, but more than that, he wanted to protect his boys. He hated that Jisung was still looking over his shoulder, that Changbin only had that craving because those two assholes had shoved him into the abyss, that Jeongin was supposed to be safe, innocent and pure, not flinching and so afraid.

He tried his best to make them comfortable, to keep them safe. Even if he couldn’t keep them safe from themselves, he could damn well make sure no one came near them.

But he couldn’t do that as he was now. He needed to be stronger, smarter. He needed to be more.

“I think we should find a new place,” Chan said one day, his back to the boys as he cooked.

“Why?” Jeongin asked, and Jisung came up next to Chan, a concerned look on his face.

“I thought you wanted to wait until your friend came back?” Jisung asked.

Chan didn’t freeze up, his shoulders didn’t hunch defensively, and he took that as progress. It was no secret that Chan didn’t like talking about _him_. Jisung, Jeongin, and Changbin didn’t even know his name, but they knew better than to bring it up. It was still a sore – scratch that, excruciating – subject for Chan.

_When will you come back?-_

_Will you ever come back?-_

“He’s not coming back. I can’t wait forever,” Chan choked on the lie.

_I’d wait every day, forever-_

_Just come home-_

“Okay, hyung,” Jisung said, pretending to ignore the pain in Chan’s voice as he placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. Chan swayed into it slightly. “Okay.”

Chan hated that it didn’t even take them long to find a new place. It was a few neighborhoods away from where they were staying, the area a bit more populated but everyone mostly kept to themselves. It was a loft, more spacious than the apartment had been. It had two floors, a kitchen, and two bathrooms. There was some mold on the walls and ceiling, a few broken windows and a cracked sink, but all those were easily fixable.

There were four bedrooms on the top floor, and each of them had one to themselves. Jisung had hot-wired a truck – nearly giving Chan a heart attack with his driving – to help them move what little they had from their apartment.

As they made themselves comfortable, they began filling the place with their stolen possess and their presence. They’d had to steal new mattresses, their old ones were worn and thin. Changbin had taken to wearing black more often than not, _a physical manifestation of his general aura_ , Jisung liked to joke.

He and Changbin had hit a run-down gym, slowly but surely stealing some of the equipment. It got to the point where the owner knew of what they were doing, but he’d just given them a tired look and said, “Just take ‘em. Ain’t nobody here using that shit.”

That’s how they’d made their own make-shift home gym. Jisung had mocked them, but he’d helped them set up the equipment. Both Jisung and Chan knew that physical exercise was more beneficial towards helping Changbin with his cravings than any candy or cigarettes.

“Wow, hyungs,” Jeongin said one day as he passed them. Chan and Changbin were sweating, Chan shirt sticking to his chest uncomfortably, so he tugged it off, standing near the window to cool off.

“What, Jeongin-ah?” Changbin asked from where he had his head stuck in the fridge, looking for water.

“You guys are like… _ripped_ now,” Jeongin said. Changbin looked up from his task, amused. Chan chuckled as Changbin threw a bottle of water at him, and he took a large gulp. “Changbin-hyung used to be so skinny and now look at his arms.”

Jeongin walked over to Changbin and poked his biceps. Changbin smacked his hands away, glaring at the boy but Chan knew he was secretly pleased.

“Maybe you should work out with us one of these days, Innie,” Chan said, already knowing the response he would get.

Jeongin made a disgusted face. He darted around Changbin, grabbing the slice of Jisung’s chocolate cake that he had stolen. He held it up for Chan to see, smiling widely. “I’m good, hyung.”

_Maybe I’m strong enough now-_

“Changbin,” Chan said one night, slipping into Changbin’s room and shutting the door behind him. Changbin looked up from the comic book he’d been reading and eyed Chan curiously. Chan laid down next to him, their shoulders pressed together.

Neither of them said anything for a long time, but Chan knew Changbin was waiting for whatever he had to say.

“What would you say…” Chan trailed off. “What if we became a gang.”

Changbin laughed. A full-bodied laugh. His shoulders shook with it and he doubled over, his head pressed into Chan’s collar bone. When he realized Chan wasn’t laughing, wasn’t looking at him at all, he froze.

“Hyung,” Changbin said as he sat up. “You’re not serious.”

Chan finally looked at him. “I’m deadly serious, Bin.”

“But why?” Changbin asked. Chan sighed, sitting up as well.

“I want to protect you–” Chan started and glared when Changbin was about to interrupt. “Not just you, but all those other kids. Every Jisung and Jeongin and Changbin and…”

“Hyung, you don’t have to be in a gang to do that,” Changbin said.

“I know, but…” Chan shook his head. “I’m so angry, Bin. All the time. I don’t let you guys see it because I don’t _want_ you to see it. You know, that night I saved you, I almost beat one of those guys to death?”

Changbin’s eyes widened. Chan smiled, but it wasn’t a real smile – it was fragile, cruel at the ends. The only slip of his mask that he allowed Changbin to see.

“There are so many terrible people out there. I can’t stand just sitting around and doing _nothing._ Those people – they hurt you, and they hurt Jisung. He’s _still_ looking over his shoulder, even now. People like that killed my family–”

“Hyung–”

“I just want to help. I _need_ to help. And if I have to become like them to do it, then so be it.” Chan was gasping with every breath by the time he was done. Changbin was gripping his shoulder so tightly he knew it would bruise later.

“You could _never_ be like them, hyung,” Changbin said. Chan let out a breath of relief, collapsing against Changbin. “Let’s do it then.”

“We’ll have to talk to the other boys first,” Chan said and Changbin snorted.

“Please, you know Jisung will be over the moon. Jeongin on the other hand…”

“Jeongin is going nowhere near this,” Chan said and Changbin nodded in agreement.

They fell silent again.

_Are we really going to do this?-_

_Are we really going to go down this path?-_

Felix’s bruised and bloodied face flashed in his mind. Jisung climbing higher and higher as gunshots exploded in the air. Jeongin sobbing on the couch, unable to let anyone touch him. Changbin faced down, face covered in powder as he struggled in vain.

_Yes-_

_It’s the only way-_

They told Jisung, and as Changbin had predicted, he was ecstatic.

“Finally, a chance to kick some ass for actual money!” Jisung had punched the air in victory.

“As if you didn’t do that for fun already,” Chan had muttered under his breath, Changbin snorting next to him.

Jeongin, while he had pouted and sulked, was more than happy to stay behind and not get involved.

“What will our name be?” Jeongin asked, as Chan was cooking and Changbin and Jisung were sitting discussing semantics at the table.

“3RACHA!” Jisung yelled, startling all of them. “Because there’s three of us and we’re spicy.”

Chan rolled his eyes, catching Changbin doing the same.

Sadly, because no one else put forth any other suggestions, the became 3RACHA. At least no one else would know the meaning behind the name.

“If we’re going to do this, we need money and connections,” Jisung said.

“I know where we can get money,” Changbin said and Chan wasn’t sure if he liked the smirk on his face.

“I might have connections,” Chan said. Changbin looked at him disbelievingly but Chan just shrugged. “You’re not the only one with a past.”

The place Changbin had in mind was another high-end, college party on the other side of town, hosted by the children of the elite families in the neighborhood. It was the kind of neighborhood where every house was stacked four to five stories high, lush gardens and wide backyards with swimming pools lined with expensive sculptures.

“Are you sure about this?” Chan asked as they neared the front door. With a party like this, there were bound to be drugs circulating – that was how Changbin knew about the party after all. The gangs regularly dealt with these kids – rich kids willing to pay more than necessary for a little ecstasy. Chan was counting on them to be too high to notice him and Changbin digging around in their pockets.

“I’m fine, hyung,” Changbin reassured him. He looked up at the building, people pouring out of every door and window, dancing and laughing, the music too loud and lights too bright. Chan laid a hand on his shoulder, squeezing before he walked in front of the younger boy. It was now or never.

It was easier than Chan had thought it would be. All he had to do was grind up against a stranger, arms wrapped around their waist while his hands dug through their pockets. Most of them were too drunk to notice, while others thought he was feeling him up. It was awkward, having to sheepishly smile as they propositioned him, slipping whatever he’d found into his back pocket. It was mostly credit cards – black cards because _of course,_ they were – and hundreds. He was sure that by the time he’d made it to the second floor that he had over five thousand in cash. He wondered how Changbin was doing.

He was heading looking for his next target when he caught sight of Changbin. He was pressed up against a wall by a stranger, locked in what looked like a sloppy kiss as one of his hands dug through the guy’s back pocket. Changbin opened his eyes, catching Chan watching him, and his gaze turned mischievous. Chan smirked, walking towards the pair, taking the guy’s wallet from Changbin’s outstretched hand. He schooled his expression into one of fury as he shoved the guy off Changbin.

“What the hell, man?” the guy asked, scowling at the interruption. Chan wrapped a hand around Changbin’s bicep and drew him to his side.

“He’s not even legal, asshole,” Chan hissed in the guy’s face, enjoying as he turned pale and backed away. It wasn’t technically a lie – Changbin was turning eighteen in less than two months.

“Shit man, I-I didn’t know–” the guy stuttered. He backed away, almost stumbling down the stairs in his hast to get away. Changbin chuckled behind him.

“Having fun?” Changbin asked when Chan turned to him again. Chan eyed him knowingly.

“It seems like you’re having more fun,” Chan said. “You didn’t _need_ to make out with him.”

“Yeah, but I wanted to,” Changbin grinned. Chan shook his head, throwing an arm around Changbin’s shoulder and stuffing the wallet into the inner pocket of Changbin’s jacket. They passed a few more couples on their way, all to wrapped up in each other to notice them.

Most of the doors were closed, and from the sounds emitting through the doors, Chan didn’t want to open any of them. They reached the end of the hallway and were about to go up the next flight of stairs when Chan stopped. The last door was closed, but unlike with the rest of the rooms, there was no moaning or retching. Just… silence.  Changbin looked at Chan curiously, but he couldn’t describe what he felt at that moment. There was just a need to open the door, to see what was on the other side.

Chan removed his arm from Changbin’s shoulders, moving over to turn the doorknob and push the door open. Changbin, moving faster than Chan, stepped into the room. Chan went to follow him but ended up walking into Changbin’s stiff back. Changbin stood rigid, staring into the room.

“Wh–?” he started, looking over Changbin’s head and falling silent.

It would have looked like any other room Chan would have walked into – a couple on the bed, clothes half-undone, hands roaming, and lips locked. It _would_ have. Had there not been a familiar open packet of white powder on the bedside table. Had one of the boys’ eyes not been glazed over, his head lolling to the side as he stared blankly at where Changbin and Chan had entered the room.

 

Changbin and Chan moved forward at the same time, Changbin ripping the boy off the bed and shoving him at Chan, who caught the boy the collar of his expensive shirt. Changbin was hovering over the other boy, his fingers at the boy’s pulse. Chan didn’t pay any attention to the struggling boy in his grip, instead focusing on Changbin. He let out a small sigh of relief when Changbin turned back and nodded.

The boy was still alive, still breathing.

_Just keep breathing, kid-_

“Hey man,” the kid said, snapping Chan’s attention to him. His voice was smooth, words fluent and eyes clear. He was too coherent to be under the influence of those drugs which meant–

His stomach churned, and he looked back to the boy on the bed. Changbin was trying to get him to respond, lightly slapping his cheek. Almost half that packet finished by one boy?

_Why?-_

_What does it give you?-_

_What do you need to get away from?-_

“I’m wasn’t doing anything wrong,” the boy said, raising his hands in mock defense. “He wanted it.”

Both Changbin and Chan’s heads snapped to him. there was a fury in Changbin’s eyes that was matched in Chan’s own. He thought about Jeongin, and maybe this wasn’t the same, but from what he could see – neither one of them _wanted it_.

“Wanted it?” Chan hissed. He gripped the boy’s shirt tighter and drew him closer until their noses were almost touching. “ _Does that look like he wanted it?_ ”

The boy was coming too now, moaning in pain and curling away from Changbin. Chan focused on the boy in front of him, but he didn’t look the least bit perturbed. Instead, to Chan’s utter disgust, he smirked at Chan as if he was sharing a secret.

“Well, he does have a reputation for being kind of a slut–” Chan’s fist connected with his cheekbone before he could finish his sentence. He swore, trying to rip away from Chan’s punishing grip, but Chan wouldn’t budge. He brought his fist down again, this time aiming for the boy’s nose. A sickening crack filled the silence of the room. Chan felt the bone break under his fist, but he didn’t feel disgusted. He felt satisfied.

He wanted to do it again.

“Chan-hyung!” Changbin shouted as Chan was about to punch the kid again. His voice shattered whatever had taken over Chan’s consciousness and he let go of the kid, shoving him away. He fell to his knees, clutching his now bleeding nose, a slew of curses escaping his mouth.

“ _Get the fuck out_ ,” Chan said, glaring down at the boy. The boy scrambled away from him, fumbling as he tried to make his way to the door. Before the boy left, he spared a glance towards the bed, but Chan bared his teeth and growled. “ _Leave!_ ”

Chan found that he couldn’t look away from the door. He couldn’t pull himself away from the urge to chase after the boy, to make sure he never did anything like this again. He was buzzing with energy that had nowhere to go, his hands clenching and unclenching as he tried to control his breathing. He tried to shake himself out of it when he caught Changbin watching with thinly veiled concern.

_I’m fine-_

“He’s right,” a soft, slurred voice mumbled, drawing their attention. Changbin turned to the boy as Chan rushed to his other side. The boy’s gaze was still weary, but clearer than before, and his brown eyes traveled back and forth between Chan and Changbin. He was strikingly beautiful, Chan realized, as he and Changbin wrapped their arms around the boy to help him sit upright. Chan had a quick flashback to the night he’d found Changbin and hoped that it wouldn’t be as bad with this one.

_So pretty-_

_What are you doing in a place like this?-_

_Jesus, always so young. Why are you all always so young?-_

“I wanted it,” the boy said. He looked at Chan, tears gathering in his eyes. His voice cracked on the words, “ _I wanted it.”_

It happened all at once, as he fell forward, arms wrapping around himself as he broke out into sobs – raw, broken sobs that shook through his entire body. Chan and Changbin looked at each other, alarmed.

“Hey, it’s okay. It’s okay,” Chan said, gently wrapping his arms around the boy’s upper body and drawing him closer. He sobbed into Chan’s chest, clutching onto Chan’s shirt as if to keep him from moving away. Chan rubbed comforting circles into his back, reminded too much of Changbin, of Jeongin. “Changbin…”

Chan jerked his chin in the direction of the drugs. If it were up to him, he’d flush them down the toilet himself, but he couldn’t leave this boy – not when he held onto Chan like a helpless child afraid to be alone. Changbin, understanding what Chan meant, nodded grimly. He stood, eyeing the packet – half in hatred, and half in greed – before grabbing it and making his way to the en suite. Chan didn’t bother to look over his shoulder. He trusted Changbin.

The toilet flushed and Changbin returned, taking a seat next to Chan. He reached out, brushing the boy’s long hair away from his forehead. The boy opened his eyes, looking up at both of them tearfully, his face red and eyes bloodshot. Though he couldn’t be that young, he was too young to be in a place like this, too young to have white powder under his nose and older men using his body.

“…Why?” Changbin asked softly, carding his hands through the boy’s damp hair. “Why did you go looking for this?”

The boy stared at Changbin, his eyes unfocused. Then he turned away, turning his face into Chan’s chest and stayed there. Changbin sighed next to him but didn’t comment. Chan knew that Changbin, more than anyone, could understand this boy’s reasons – whatever they may be.

Chan was at a loss then, of what to do next.  He continued to gently run his hands over the boy back, keeping his breathing calm. He could feel the boy’s rapid heartbeat beneath his touch, a stark contrast to his sluggish movements. Chan and Changbin locked eyes, and Changbin shook his head sadly.

“I just–” the boy started. His head was still buried in Chan’s chest, his words still slurred. More tears fell, Chan could feel them wetting his shirt. He tightened his hold around the boy. “I just wanted to feel good. I just wanted to feel _something._ ”

_I know what that’s like, kid-_

_Anything – anything else but sadness and suffocation, so much loneliness-_

“That’s okay too,” Chan said. The boy didn’t say anything to that. Changbin sighed, standing up from the mattress.

“We should’ve checked him for cash,” Changbin said wistfully. Chan rolled his eyes but couldn’t help but agree. They should’ve taken everything from him, Chan thought angrily.

_Should’ve ruined him-_

Before Chan could comment, the boy’s head shot up and he looked up at Changbin with wide eyes, more alert than he had been since they’d entered the room.

“You guys need money? I have money,” he said. He struggled out of Chan’s grasp, crawling across the mattress to where Changbin was standing at the foot of the bed. Changbin was too shocked to move away when the boy grabbed the front of his shirt, clutching onto him like a small child.

“I’ll give you all the money you need, just – please–” he was crying again, shuddering with every breath as he _begged._ “Take me with you. _Please._ ”

_What are you running away from?-_

_Who are you running away from?-_

_Who made you like this?-_

Changbin looked at the boy and then flicked his gaze up to Chan. Chan – who had already made up his mind the moment the boy had collapsed into his arms, sobbing and begging – nodded. Changbin let out a breath, his hands coming up to grip the boy’s wrists and force them to release his shirt. The boy looked confused, afraid that they were rejecting him. Changbin kneeled on the floor in front of him, hands still gripping the boy’s wrists.

“Are you sure about this? What about your family?” Changbin asked. The boy let out a loud, watery laugh, so harsh it cut right through Chan’s heart – and from the look on Changbin’s face, Chan knew he felt the same.

“I don’t have anyone looking for me,” the boy said, looking away. “I don’t have anyone.”

“Okay,” Changbin said. The boy jerked his head up, _hoping_ Changbin was saying what he thought he was saying. “ _Okay_.”

There was a moment where nothing happened – none of them moved, didn’t even breath. Then the boy moved, throwing his arms around Changbin’s neck and muttering _thank you, thank you, thank you_ into Changbin’s shoulder. Changbin wrapped his arm’s around the boy, looking at Chan over the boy’s shoulder.

 

_Where do you all keep coming from?-_

“What’s your name, kid?” Chan asked as he and Changbin helped him to walk.

“Hyunjin. I’m Hwang Hyunjin,” he mumbled, looking at the floor as if he was embarrassed. Changbin’s eyes widened, but Chan subtly shook his head.

_Ignore it-_

_He’s just another runaway, another lost boy, it doesn’t matter where he came from-_

Chan ignored the last name and gave Hyunjin a dimpled smile. “I’m Chan, that’s Changbin. You’ll be safe with us, okay?”

Hyunjin nodded, staying silent, but that was okay.

It was due to the fact that Jeongin and Changbin had been brought in and accepted so easily, that Chan was shocked by Jisung’s visceral reaction to Hyunjin joining their group. At first, he hadn’t said anything as Chan and Changbin had entered the apartment, Hyunjin held between them. He’d only told Jeongin to get some food and water, turning to Chan with a, “ _Seriously? Another one?”_

Things had rapidly crumbled when Jisung had learned who Hyunjin really was. He’d shouted and swore, arguing with _Chan_ – he’d never argued with Chan before, not really, seriously, over anything – and storming out.

_So what? You’re selling us out to some rich kid for money?-_

Chan and Changbin had tried to explain the situation, but Jisung refused to listen. Jeongin – whose mood reflected that of those around him – ping-ponged through anxiousness, anger, frustration, and sadness. Chan knew the boy must have been emotionally drained by the end of the third day. And if Chan had thought Jisung screaming at the top of his lungs had been the worst part, it was nothing compared to the day Jisung went missing.

Chan hadn’t felt that kind of panic since the day _he_ had been taken.

_Where are you? Where are you? Where are you?-_

_Please be safe-_

_Please, please, please, please, please-_

“Hyung,” Changbin had said when Jisung hadn’t returned to the loft. Hyunjin, who had been staying in Changbin’s room, stayed silent, staring at the wall. Chan would have to talk to him after he got back from _chasing that goddamn brat down._

_Fuck, you better be safe-_

“Take care of the boys, I’ll be back as soon as I find him,” Chan said. Changbin had nodded. Hyunjin hadn’t moved. Chan hoped he would be okay with Changbin.

The funniest – and most relieving thing – was that it took barely any time at all for Chan to find Jisung. The first place he went – the apartment – and _there,_ sitting on the old mattresses, fiddling with the radio, sat Jisung. He didn’t even look up as Chan approached, he had probably been expecting him.

Chan took a seat next to him, keeping a small distance between them.

“Jisung-ah,” Chan said when the silence stretched on for too long. Jisung turned further away from him, his lips in an angry pout. “Look at me please.”

It took a few moments, but Jisung’s shoulders heaved with a sigh and he turned his chin, lifting his chin to look at Chan. Chan forgot how young he was sometimes. Jisung – Jisung who swore on every second word, who sharpened his favorite knives at the dinner table, who ran from bullets without flinching even once. Chan forgot he was the same Jisung who had pleaded with Chan to let Jeongin stay. The same Jisung who cuddled with Jeongin on the couch, stuffing his face with cheesecake he’d cheekily asked Chan for. He wasn’t even eighteen yet.

“It’s not about the money–” Chan said, and Jisung kissed his teeth. “I’m serious. It’s _not._ Hyunjin could have had absolutely nothing, and we still would have taken him in. We had enough cash, that really, we didn’t even need his money.”

“Then why?” Jisung asked, sneering. Chan cuffed him.

“It was – it was the only way he thought we’d take him with us,” Chan said. Jisung said nothing to that. “He just wanted to get away.”

“What problems does a rich kid like that need to get away from?” Jisung _tsked,_ shaking his head.

_I just wanted to feel good-_

_I just wanted to feel something-_

“You’d be surprised,” Chan said, although he couldn’t imagine the kind of problems Hyunjin had faced either. He’s not sure he wanted to if Hyunjin thought the best way to deal with them was by drowning himself in drugs and sex.

_So young-_

“Look, you don’t need to like him, you just have to let him stay. You can avoid him – pretend he’s not there – whatever. But Hyunjin needs a place to stay, and we promised him,” Chan said. Jisung sighed but didn’t make a biting comment. Chan took that as progress.

“Hyung,” Jisung said as they were walking back to the loft. Chan looked up, waiting. “What – why was he like that, when you found him?”

“Maybe you should ask him,” was all Chan said. the walked the rest of the way in silence.

Later that night, after Changbin had punched Jisung in the shoulder hard enough to make the boy cry out and then promptly pulled him into a bone-crushing hug, whispering _never fucking do that again,_ and Jeongin had hugged Jisung tearfully and made him _promise_ to never leave them again, Chan was about to retreat to his room for the night, when he caught sight of Jisung and Hyunjin standing in the kitchen.

Jisung was sitting on the countertop – he liked feeling tall, Chan joked – and Hyunjin was leaning against the fridge, both of them not looking at each other. Chan froze where he was, feeling the tension between them even at a distance. He waited, ready to step in if anything went wrong.

“Chan-hyung says you’re fucked up,” Jisung said. Hyunjin’s eyes jumped up, glaring at Jisung. Chan sighed. Jisung ignored Hyunjin’s response and continued. “I don’t like you – I think you’re just some pretty rich boy who’s used to getting what he wants–”

“And I think _you’re_ an entitled asshole who doesn’t like when things don’t go your way,” Hyunjin cut in, still glaring. Jisung let out a harsh breath. Chan tensed, ready to get between them as it looked like they were about to pounce. Chan could tell that it took a lot, but Jisung reeled himself back.

“Fine – but that shit doesn’t matter. I don’t like you, you don’t like me, whatever. But you’re fucked up – we’re all fucked up. That’s why we’re here. And neither one of us is leaving any time soon–” Hyunjin’s eyes widened at the words, his jaw dropping – Chan couldn’t blame him, just hours ago Jisung had been preaching to Chan about how they should kick him out – but Jisung ignored him “–so let’s just play nice and stay away from each other.”

“Fine. I’ll play nice,” Hyunjin said, and while Jisung couldn’t hear it, Chan picked up on the underlying tone of relief in his voice.

The two spent another few seconds locked in an intense glaring match before Jisung hopped off the counter and made his way to his room without a glance back. Hyunjin went about making himself some of the hot chocolate Changbin had gotten him – he made three cups even though Chan had told him not to give Jeongin sugar passed nine at night.

Chan smiled to himself, taking the stairs quietly. Maybe things would work out.

While Jisung and Hyunjin had tried to ignore each other at first, apparently the mere presence of one around the other was enough to send either into a fit of irritation. They couldn’t stop themselves from bickering, biting remarks falling from their lips like acid, glares as sharp as knives. There wasn’t a time they weren’t criticizing each other for whatever reason. It was annoying; it gave Chan a headache most of the time – and he was sure it was the same for Changbin – but it was better than the alternative of them physically ripping each other to shreds.

One thing Chan was glad for was that despite their constant fighting, Jisung never – _never_ – mentioned anything about the drugs. They all knew that much like Changbin, Hyunjin also had… _cravings._ His withdrawal had been scarier than Changbin’s.

_So pale, bones shaking, lips cracked-_

_Hyung please, please, make it stop, give more-_

_Make. It. Stop-_

Jisung was considerate enough to keep his thoughts to himself on that subject, and though Hyunjin never voiced it, Chan knew he was thankful. Hyunjin could take and throw back all of Jisung’s cutting words, but that. That would be too much.

There was one – and only one – time when the two had almost got into a physical altercation – but that was more Chan’s (and Changbin’s) fault. Neither one of them had really explain the rules – not that they had many – to Hyunjin. In fact, they didn’t have many rules. Only one. The most important one:

_Don’t touch Jeongin without permission._

Though it had been a long time since it happened, Jeongin still flinched every time someone approached him too quickly or tapped him on the shoulder. He especially hated it when anyone came up and grabbed him from behind. Chan, Changbin, and Jisung all made sure to accommodate him. They always asked before touching, made sure to stand in his line of sight and approach him slowly. Jeongin complained, but he never asked them to stop.

Really, it wasn’t Hyunjin’s fault he didn’t know the rule.

What Chan learned about Hyunjin as they grew closer, was that Hyunjin was a very… _touchy_ person. If he was comfortable enough with someone, he would physically attach himself to them – much like a cute, slightly annoying, teddy bear. Of course, he only ever did this with Changbin and Chan. He and Hyunjin would rather die than go within less than five feet from each other.

One day, Hyunjin – who had been spending more and more time bonding with Jeongin – had made the mistake of trying to hug Jeongin. He came up from behind him, arms wrapping around Jeongin’s waist and resting his head on Jeongin’s shoulder. Chan and Jisung – who had just walked in – saw what Hyunjin didn’t see. They saw the way Jeongin tensed in Hyunjin’s arms, his eyes going wide and face slack. His hands began to shake as the light in his eyes dulled, darkened by the memories that were no doubt resurfacing. Before Chan could warn anyone, Jisung was moving forward, ripping the two boys apart.

“What–?” Hyunjin tried to ask, confused as Jisung shoved him away. He stumbled back, frowning as Jisung hissed, “ _Don’t touch him._ ”

“What the fuck are you even talking about?” Hyunjin asked, his own temper rising in response to Jisung’s. Jisung, too blinded by rage and protectiveness, tried to throw a punch. Chan caught him around the waist and pried him away before it could connect. Hyunjin’s eyes widened and he jerked back.

“Let me go,” Jisung said, struggling in Chan’s arms. Chan didn’t relent, giving Hyunjin a sad smile as the boy looked on in confusion.

“ _Jisung,”_ Chan said firmly, locking his arms around the boy until he couldn’t move. Chan looked over to where Jeongin was, still standing frozen, face blank. His heart twisted, and he turned Jisung around, so the boy could see. “Jeongin needs you. He needs you, see?”

Only when Jisung had stopped struggling did Chan loosen his grip. Jisung was breathing heavily, attention now solely focused on Jeongin as he tried to get the boy to respond to him. He didn’t even spare another look to Hyunjin.

“I – I–” Hyunjin tried to say, looking at Chan desperately. Chan, knowing what he was trying to say, approached him and ushered him away into another room.

“I didn’t mean to hurt him, hyung,” Hyunjin said, clutching onto Chan. “I promise.”

“I know, Hyunjinne,” Chan sighed. He drew Hyunjin closer, hugging him as the boy shook with apologies. “It’s my fault. I should have told you.”

“What – what’s wrong –?” Hyunjin asked into Chan’s shoulder.

“That’s not my story to tell. Only Jeongin can tell you,” Chan explained. “All you need to know is that Jeonginnie – he doesn’t like to be touched without permission.”

Hyunjin nodded into Chan’s shoulder and Chan thought, vaguely, that Hyunjin might understand a little bit about Jeongin’s situation. His mind flashed to the night they’d found Hyunjin. He shuddered.

_So still, barely moving-_

_Dead eyes. Unseeing, unfeeling-_

_Are you even in there?-_

Later, when Jisung had managed to calm Jeongin down and bring him out of his spiral, Hyunjin – with Chan at his side – kept a safe distance away as he tearfully apologized.

“I won’t ever do it again, Innie,” Hyunjin said, voice watery as he kept a death grip around Chan’s arm. “I promise.”

Jeongin had nodded, giving Hyunjin a small smile and accepted the apology with a quiet mumble. Exhausted, he retreated to his room for the night.

To Chan’s utter surprise, Hyunjin turned to Jisung next.

“I’m sorry,” he said. Both Jisung and Chan looked at him with comically wide-eyed. “I didn’t know – and that’s no excuse – but I’ll – I’ll be more considerate from now on.”

“O-Okay,” Jisung said, flustered by the apology from _Hyunjin_ of all people. Hyunjin – to all of their even greater surprise – _bowed_ before turning and making his way up the stairs.

Chan knew the boy would go straight to Changbin, desperate for some relief. Chan didn’t miss the slight tremble in his hands or the sweat beading down his forehead. _Cravings._ Chan did as much as he could, but sometimes Hyunjin just needed Changbin to hold him and tell him he didn’t _need_ it. He could live without it.

_He could feel without it-_

For the next few months, it was just the five of them. Their birthdays came and went, all of them a year older. Jisung and Hyunjin – now finally eighteen – had coerced and manipulated Changbin into buying them alcohol, something Chan hadn’t let either of them so much as sniff it for as long as they’d been together. Besides the two getting absolutely trashed – though still, always bickering even with slurred words – the only birthday they really put any real effort into was Jeongin’s.

They got him a cake – they actually _paid_ for it – with candles. Jisung had distracted Jeongin for a few hours while Chan, Changbin, and Hyunjin had left to buy his birthday present. Hyunjin was more than happy to spend his money – “My _parents’_ money,” he smiled bitterly – on someone else. They ended up getting a new television for everyone, and gaming station just for Jeongin. To say the boy had been ecstatic had been an understatement.

“Thank you, hyungs!” Jeongin had dolphin-shrieked, throwing himself at each other them and squeezing. Hyunjin – who had been keeping his distance from Jeongin after the incident – was surprised as Jeongin drew him down into a suffocating hug. He got over his momentary shock, smiling softly at the younger boy as he gently hugged Jeongin back.

Time moved quickly after that. Chan got in touch with some of his connections – BamBam had been upset that the first time he’d seen Chan after two years was for something _gang related_ – and had managed to get a few weapons. Jaebum and Chan had a long conversation, one that lasted for hours. Jaebum wanted to make sure Chan was doing things for the right reasons and that he knew what he was getting himself – and the others – into. After Chan had explained everything, Jaebum had sighed and nodded. He knew how stubborn Chan could be. After all, Jaebum was no stranger to rage, and he himself could only be placated by putting that rage to good use. Well, there was only a few other things that could either match or tamper down Jaebum’s temper. One of them was Jinyoung.

“Finally,” Jinyoung said when Chan and Jaebum exited Jaebum’s study. They stayed in a loft similar to Chan’s, but they had infinitely more clutter. Chan – who had stayed with them for a period of time – found himself content that not much had changed in the time he’d left.

Jaebum rolled his eyes, but his gaze was fond as he made his way over to where Jinyoung and Jackson were sitting, shoving himself between the two. Jackson whined, but both Jaebum and Jinyoung ignored him, cuddling up to one another.

Jackson had all but tackled Chan on sight when he’d entered. Mark had been more subdued – when wasn’t he? – ruffling Chan’s hair and making fun of his height. Youngjae – much like BamBam – whined that _Channie only visits us when he wants something._ Yugyeom – in true Yugyeom fashion – had almost squeezed the life out of Chan with a bear-hug, even lifting him into the air.

Changbin, Jisung, Hyunjin, and Jeongin had stood to the side, watching this all happen with wide eyes. Chan knew they must have been confused, but he didn’t really have the time to explain his complicated history.

It was BamBam who walked them out, his lanky arm thrown across Chan’s shoulders in a familiar move. It was comforting, Chan knew, that some things never changed.

_You’ll always be my best friend won’t you?-_

_Even when you’re not here, you’re still here Chris-_

“You won’t stay away so long again, right?” BamBam asked, unwilling to let Chan go just yet. Chan laughed, trying – but not really – to shove him away. “Promise me…”

“I promise, I promise,” Chan laughed, giving BamBam one last long hug before tugging himself away. “I’ll see you soon.”

It actually took the boys longer than Chan had thought it would to voice their thoughts. They were halfway back to the loft when Changbin.

“Chan-hyung,” Changbin started. “Why didn’t you stay with them? It looked like–” _like you had a place there._

“If I had stayed with them I would never have found all of you,” Chan said simply. He tugged Changbin into a side-hug.

“Yeah, but–” Jisung tried but Chan cut him off.

“But nothing. Jaebum-hyung found them all, in the same way, I found you,” he didn’t mention that Jinyoung and Jaebum had sort of been together for like, their entire lives. “I’m glad. I’m glad I left even though it was hard. Because now I have you guys. And I’m happy with that.”

_I’m happy-_

It was after their meeting that they began to establish themselves. They were armed, the had money, now all the needed was to get their name out there. It wasn’t particularly difficult. People talked, spreading the news about three teenagers who stole their products, threatened their runners, snuck into their safehouses and stole their weapons. Chan and Jisung mostly dealt with the drugs, not wanting either Changbin or Hyunjin to be anywhere near that kind of temptation. While Changbin was better at controlling himself – it was still a lot of drugs and even the strongest person could only hold out for so long. Hyunjin… suffice to say that when _Jisung_ was worried about Hyunjin, things were definitely serious.

They made twice as many enemies as they did allies. They traded half their stolen drugs with another gang, TXT, that gave them weapons in return. Their leader – Soobin – was _Jisung’s_ age. But Chan knew age didn’t really matter that much when you knew what you were doing.

People knew the name 3RACHA, they knew what it meant. They were a small group sure, but they struck quickly and efficiently, creeping in and disappearing before anyone even knew they were there. Despite this, no one knew where their headquarters were – not that they had any, it was just the loft.

Except for one night.

One night there was a knock at their front door.

Chan – who had been at the table counting through the money to make sure they’d gotten the right amount, because that asshole was sure as _fuck_ not going to skimp out on them again, or so help him Chan would not hesitate to put a bullet through his leg – had frozen in his task.

Jeongin and Changbin were sitting on the couch, Jeongin watching as Changbin, bored out of his skull, cleaned the unassembled pieces of his gun. They both looked up, eyes locked on the door.

Jisung and Hyunjin had been in the middle of sparing – an exercise Chan had forced them into in order for them to put their energy into something other than bickering, and since they were both very willing to start a fight, they had agreed – when Hyunjin was distracted by the knock and went tumbling down, bringing Jisung down with him. For once, neither of them complained about their close proximity, too focused on staying quiet and still.

Chan put a finger to his lips, toeing off his shoes so his footsteps didn’t make a sound. He plucked two of Jisung’s knives off the table, sliding one along the floor towards where Jisung lied and keeping the other in a tight grip. He crept closer to the door, hearing as Changbin quickly reassembled his gun and cocked it, no doubt aiming it at the door, ready to shoot.

Chan spared one last glance at the rest of the boys – Changbin in front of Jeongin, Hyunjin and Jisung ready to pounce – before undoing the lock and slipping the door open just a fraction.

“Can I help you?” he asked.

There was a man on his doorstep, his face hidden in the shadows at the lights illuminated his silhouette. His chain earrings glinted as he turned to face Chan, the wides of eyes wide. He wasn’t alone, another body hidden behind him. From the little Chan could make out in the dim light, the man wore a leather jacket and black jeans. He kept looking over his shoulder, afraid someone was following him.

“You’re 3RACHA right?” the man asked, his voice softer than Chan had anticipated. Chan’s hand tightened around his blade. No one was supposed to know they were here. Fuck, they’d have to move. How had this guy even found them? His thoughts must have shown on his face because the guy shook his head. “I-I followed you, the other night. B-But I’m the only one that knows – I swear it!”

“What do you want?” Chan asked, one hand white-knuckled on the door and the other ready to swing his knife.

“I need your help,” the man said. Chan narrowed his eyes. No one had ever come looking for their help before – they weren’t the kind known to _help_ people, especially other gains. They worked mainly on alliances. No one could be trusted.

“Is that so?” Chan asked, his other hand inching towards the door. He had to end this now. Who knew if this guy was lying or not? For all Chan knew, he could have led whatever gang he was a part of right to their doorstep.

“Look, are you going to help us or not?” the other person said, stepping out from behind the man. Even in the low light, Chan could make out the cuts and bruises, the blood staining his clothes.

Chan faltered. It was another boy, he looked older than Jeongin but younger than Hyunjin. He didn’t even flinch when he met Chan’s eyes, though Chan could tell it was only bravado because his hands were shaking.

“ _Seungmin_ ,” the man hissed, trying to shove the boy behind him again.

_Always so much blood-_

_Always so young-_

“It’s just the two of you? No one else?” Chan asked harshly. He hoped he wasn’t setting them up for an ambush. They both nodded, though the man more eagerly. Chan sighed, gritted his teeth, and opened the door further.

When they were both safely inside, Chan surveyed the area, only half-satisfied when he found the street quiet and empty. They could have been hiding in the shadows for all he knew.

“Jesus,” Chan said when he turned around. The younger boy’s injuries looked even worse in proper lightening and he didn’t even have to say anything for Jeongin to go running for the first aid kit. The rest of the room surveilled the strangers with a mixture of caution, curiosity, and suspicion.

Chan motioned for the other boy to take a seat on the couch so Jeongin and Changbin could tend to his wounds. The boy hesitated before sighing, moving towards the couch awkwardly and Chan wondered what other injuries were hidden beneath his bloodied clothes. Once the boy was settled on the couch, Chan towards his companion.

Stupidly, ridiculously, the first thing he found himself thinking when he finally took in the man was

_Beautiful-_

He shook his head.

_Dangerous-_

“Who are you and why do you need our help?” Chan asked. Everyone in the room tensed, waiting for an answer. The man let out a long breath.

“My name is Woojin,” he said, clearing his throat before darting his eyes away. When he looked back at Chan again, Chan could tell that he had steeled himself. He held his head high, “I’m part of NCT.”

Jisung’s knife was at Woojin’s throat before Chan could even say anything. Woojin tensed, but only minuscule, at the touch of the blade to his skin. His eyes never left Chan’s.

NCT was one of their biggest rivals, mostly because they were one of the biggest gangs in the area, with too many members to count – too many to keep track of. They were unpredictable but organized. Chan just couldn’t figure out their strategies – at least not yet. What was one of them doing here?

“Why do you need our help?” Chan repeated. Woojin opened his mouth and then shut it again. Chan could tell he was biting the inside of his cheek. What – was it loyalty to his gang? Was he afraid?

“ _I_ don’t need your help,” Woojin said. His eyes darted to the boy on the couch. “ _He_ does.”

“You need their help too, hyung,” the boy said, moving away from Changbin’s hands to look at their stand-off.

“No, I don’t, Seungmin-ah,” Woojin gritted out, but Chan could see the lie.

“Bullshit–” the boy – Seungmin, Chan assumed – said but Chan cut him off.

“Why should we help him?” Chan asked. Woojin smirked – it wasn’t unkind, only knowing. And kind of attractive.

He had to remind himself-

_Dangerous-_

“Word on the street is you take in lost kids,” Woojin said, his eyes traveling around the room. “And Seungmin is quite valuable.”

Chan could tell the last bit was tacked on only for the benefit of making sure Chan took Seungmin in.

“He doesn’t look very lost to me. You brought him here,” Chan said. “Why?”

Woojin’s eyes darted to Seungmin. They seemed to be locked in a non-verbal conversation until Seungmin finally nodded. Woojin looked back at Chan, his eyes and face harder than before. A sculpture.

“Seungmin’s a hacker – a computer genius. My – NCT caught him trying to hack into their systems. They tracked him down and tried to get him to work for them. When he refused they began torturing him to get him to give in to their demands. Still, he refused. They were going to kill him tonight,” Woojin said, his voice clear but blank, giving away no emotion.

“Is this true?” Chan asked, looking at Seungmin. The boy nodded, looking down at his hands. There were ugly, purple bruises around his wrists and Chan could see the mostly- healed outline of the rope that must have been around his neck.

Chan looked to Changbin, then to Jisung, and then to Hyunjin. Each nodded. They believed the story – or at least hoped it was true. Jisung released his hold on Woojin and shoved him forward. Woojin grunted, stumbling forward. Chan moved without thinking, catching him by the arm and hauling him up. There was a second where time froze, and it was just the two of them, staring at each other. The moment was shattered when Seungmin spoke up.

“So we can both stay?” Seungmin asked hopefully. Woojin’s head snapped towards the boy and Chan had a vague feeling that he knew what was about to come out of his mouth.

“Seungmin-ah, no,” Woojin said. Seungmin’s face fell.

“Hyung, you can’t go back. They’ll know it was you. They’ll _kill_ you!” Seungmin said, tears of sadness and frustration in his eyes.

Before Woojin could respond, Chan spoke up. “He’s right. You can’t go back.”

“What – I’m supposed to stay here?” Woojin asked, sneering. Chan ignored him.

“Yes,” he said. He made sure to quickly glance around the room, but while the boys didn’t look happy, none of them protested. He looked back at Woojin. “ _Yes.”_

_I’m not sure I want to let you go just yet-_

“You’ll keep me safe – a member of another gang?” Woojin asked, and Chan knew he was just making up excuses now.

“You wouldn’t be a member of their gang anymore – you’d be one of us.” He didn’t know how true that would be if the boys would ever really accept him as one of their own, but he wouldn’t let Woojin just walked out that door and get himself killed.

Woojin was struggling, Chan could tell. But there were no more excuses. No more reasons to say no.

“Fine.”

Chan smiled.

Seungmin stayed in Jisung’s room – as putting anyone with Jeongin besides Jisung was asking for trouble, and Hyunjin was staying with Changbin – which meant Woojin would have to stay with Chan.

“I’m supposed to share a bed with you?” Woojin asked as they all settled in for the night.

“Never shared a bed before? Wow, they must really be living the high life there at NCT,” Chan said as he stripped and redressed into sweats and a tank top. He settled on the bed, waiting for Woojin to stop grumbling so he could switch off the light.

_It’s for safety-_

For safety that Chan kept Woojin close to him and didn’t leave him with the other boys. None of them trusted him not to kill them in their sleep. Well, Chan _hoped_ he wouldn’t.

But, he also just wanted to feel Woojin next to him. Wanted to know what the sound of his breathing was like. It was strange.

Somewhere out there, BamBam was laughing at him. He just knew it.

Woojin settled in next to him, and the other end of the mattress, making sure not to touch Chan. Chan grinned to himself, amused by Woojin’s behavior. The other man said nothing as he faced away from Chan, shoulders tense. Chan flicked off the light and went to sleep.

 

  **2019**

_Sunshine, sunflowers, painted across a wall in the middle of nowhere-_

_Happiness and good times, easier times-_

Chan snapped out of his thoughts, tearing his gaze away from the familiar wall and towards Changbin and Jisung who were still stuck in a dismal debate on which weapon was better – a knife or a gun. Chan knew better than to get in the middle of that argument, though there was a headache building behind his eyelids. He was saved from their bickering when his phone rang, and he quickly fished it out of his pocket. Of course, Woojin.

_Warm hands and warmer smile, arms wrapped around him and words whispered into his ears-_

“Hey,” he said in greeting, stepping further away from the other boys to hear better. “What’s up?”

“Nothing,” Woojin said. Chan could hear the smile in his voice and it made a giddiness tumble around in Chan’s chest. “I was just checking in. How are Changbin and Jisung?”

_Checking in. I have someone checking in on me now-_

“They’re…” he looked over at them, where Changbin was throwing his hands up in frustration and growling at Jisung. Jisung, unperturbed, continued his rant about why knives were more efficient and less likely to cause mishaps. Chan sighed. “They’re fine.”

At that moment Changbin shouted _fuck off_ at the top of his lungs, which would have drawn the attention of the passers-by – if there had been any. But this area was long abandoned, looked over by the police, ignored by the residents in the surrounding neighborhoods. That was the main reason Chan had chosen it for a rendezvous spot – that and other reasons. One other reason. The biggest reason.

“I can hear that,” Woojin said fondly.

“Huh?” Chan said, shaking himself out of his thoughts once again. Why was it so bad today?

_It’s bad every day. I miss you every day. I’m usually better at hiding it-_

“Chan,” Woojin said and _oh no_ , it was that tone of voice, concerned and upset and – _fuck_ , why did this have to happen now? “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, Jin,” he said. He turned away from the brightly painted wall.

_Retouched and retouched, keeping it the same in case you come back, until you come back-_

_Until you come home-_

“Okay…” Woojin said but Chan knew he didn’t believe it. They would probably have a very long conversation about this when Chan returned. Again.

_Why won’t you just tell me? Don’t you trust me?-_

_Not with this, Jin. Not this-_

“Hey, take care of yourself and the boys, yeah? Make sure they don’t burn the place down,” Chan said, trying to lighten the mood. Woojin chuckled and Chan could envision his tiny headshake and how he would conceal his sigh while rolling his eyes towards the ceiling because _Chan was avoiding things again, and hadn’t we gotten past this?_

“Jisung’s not here, so burning down the building isn’t likely – unless Hyunjin loads another virus onto Seungmin’s computer,” Woojin said and Chan snorted.

“Let’s hope that doesn’t happen,” Chan said. Chan winced at the memory of a sheepish Hyunjin backing away from a furious Seungmin. Thankfully nothing was broken – that much. The electronic watch on his wrist _beeped_ and Chan knew it was time to say goodbye. “I have to go.”

“Stay safe,” Woojin said, softer this time and Chan blushed at the tone of his voice. “Come home soon.”

“I will,” Chan said. He let the call go on, though neither of them said anything further.

_How do I even love the sound of your breathing?-_

“Go,” Woojin whispered.

“See you in a few days,” Chan whispered back and cut the call before he made them late. Changbin and Jisung would never let him live that down. He pocketed his phone and hitched his bag further up his shoulder.

“Are you done?” Chan asked as he walked over to where the two boys were standing, finally talking at a normal volume – or well, a normal volume for them. Jisung opened his mouth to argue but Chan shut him down. “That was a trick question. I’m _telling_ you you’re done, yeah? Finish your stupid argument later.”

Both boys deflated at Chan’s words, scowling at one another and Chan knew that while he had stopped their arguing for now, he had only postponed the inevitable.

“Hyung, your flowers look prettier today,” Changbin said. Chan looked towards the wall again.

_Bright, happy, colourful. So blinding, my eyes almost hurt from it-_

_Just come back-_

Chan didn’t say anything in return and both Changbin and Jisung knew better than to pry further. Chan loved them to death, would die for them without hesitation, but he would not talk about it – about _him_.

“Let’s go,” Chan said.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> unbeta'd


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